


Lemon Dance

by ParadiseAvenger



Series: Lemon Collections [3]
Category: Princess Tutu
Genre: F/M, Lemons, Multi, Threesome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-25
Updated: 2013-02-25
Packaged: 2017-12-03 15:03:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/699534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParadiseAvenger/pseuds/ParadiseAvenger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anything you want or imagine... any fantasy you have... any desire that wakes you in the night, panting and sweaty... can be found in the Dance of Lemons, but only for a price. A collection of one-shot citrus for AHIRU, FAKIR, MYTHO, and RUE. Canon, fluff, AU. Requests welcome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Emotion of Lust

I really can’t decide which pairings I like most in Princess Tutu. On the one hand, I think Fakir and Ahiru are adorable. On the other, I think Ahiru deserves her prince after all she’s done for him. But Rue and Mytho are so cute together too. But I also think Rue and Fakir could have some uncontrolled wild angry sex. I just don’t know… I like them all. (I think I like Fakir and Ahiru the very best though.)

Pairing: Mytho and Princess Tutu.

Summary: Princess Tutu returns the emotion of lust to Mytho.

X X X

“Won’t you dance with me, Miss Bradamante (1)?” Princess Tutu asked, her hands circling in the gesture before offering out to the young girl who held a fragment of the prince’s shattered heart. Unlike most, the girl did not hesitate. She immediately grasped Tutu’s proffered hand and pulled the slim ballerina towards her. 

Without music, the dance began immediately, without any of the usual hesitation or brokenness given off by the prince’s borrowed emotion. The young woman’s dace was sensual and unrestrained, without any of the technique or grace of ballet. Though Princess Tutu was used to dancing with others who were not ballerinas and was therefore used to leading the dance, she found it difficult to keep up with this girl’s passionate dance. Finally, the exhaustingly fervent dance drew to an end.

Panting, the young woman slid to her knees, her head thrown back. From the area above her heart, a shower of ruby-red shards spilled forth. Between the spent Bradamante and Tutu, Prince Mytho’s heart shard took a momentary physical form. He gazed at Tutu, smiling softly, and she held out her hands for him. Without further ado, the missing emotion poured himself into Tutu’s hands and became a glistening ruby jewel. It was warm in Tutu’s hand, beating faintly just like a real heart. 

She smiled to herself. “I found another shard,” she whispered happily. “I’ll be able to return a little more of the prince’s heart to him.”

She heard footsteps behind her and turned, expecting to find Fakir standing grouchily behind her. He always seemed to appear the moment after she finished her dance to make one more attempt to stop her from restoring Mytho’s heart. She sighed softly. One would have thought that by now Fakir would have learned that nothing would stop her, not even his brooding meanness or the threat of his sword. Tutu gracefully turned, the words to give him a piece of her mind burning on her lips.

But it was not Fakir who had approached.

It was Mytho, his cheeks slightly flushed. “Princess Tutu,” he gasped out, drawing close enough that she could have reached out and touched him.

She opened her cupped palms, revealing the shard of his heart to sparkle in the faint moonlight filtering through the thin veil of clouds overhead. Shining brightly, the shard floated from her hands and dissolved within Mytho’s body. He cupped his hands over his chest, his head dipping back in the same way Bradamante’s had. His face was lined with pleasure, with happiness.

Tutu’s smile widened. It seemed that she was finally able to return a good emotion to him. It seemed that since she had started this endeavor all she had been able to find were dark emotions and bad feelings—disappointment, loneliness, sorrow, regret… She was happy for Mytho.

She dipped into a small curtsey, her hands fluttering along the edge of her puffed tulle skirt. She said softly, “My Prince,” before turning away. She didn’t want to stay long enough to give grumpy Fakir time to show up and have a go at fighting her. Gracefully, she moved to depart.

Mytho’s warm fingers caught her hand, tugging her gently back to face him. For one moment, his golden eyes seemed to fill up her entire world. Breathless, Tutu could only stare into his gaze, her heart pounding behind the cage of her ribs. The prince was so close to her. His body was so warm, his hands were so gentle, his eyes… they were… Could that emotion be… love? She lost all the breath in her lungs as if someone had simply stolen it from her.

Then, with shocking suddenness, Mytho dipped his chin and kissed her. A gasp escaped Tutu’s lips, her mouth opening slightly so that his tongue could slip in. Again, she gasped, only granting him further access. He dipped her body low, almost as if they were dancing a pas de deux. His hands supported the small of her back and she allowed her body to go limp in his grasp. She trusted the prince and he trusted her completely, enough that he trusted her with his very heart.

Tutu’s fingers threaded through his pale hair, one hand gripping his shoulder, as he continued to kiss her. His tongue was nearly expert, impatient, teasing hers until she allowed herself to let go and really kiss him. It seemed as if he was never going to break the kiss, as if he was going to devour her completely from her lips down to her toes. Their tongues tangled, danced, and their breath panted out in sync. Slowly, Mytho knelt, lowering Tutu’s body to the cool cobblestones of the street.

She shivered at the chill on her naked back and he warmed her with another heated passion-filled kiss. Tutu wrapped her arms around his back, clinging to him tightly. He nudged her knees apart and slipped his thin body between her parted thighs. After a moment of hesitation, unsure of what he was doing, she wrapped her legs around his hips if just to pull him closer as her arms were doing. His lips pulled from hers and she almost protested until, hot and loud, his breath tickled the shell of her ear.

She gasped, shuddering at the strange sensation. His teeth gently nipped her earlobe, making her gasp anew, and then pulled the tender appendage into his mouth. He suckled lightly, soothing the pinch he had inflicted on her. A soft weak shivering sound escaped her mouth, thrumming deep in her chest, and she pulled him closer, turning her head to give him greater access. Mytho’s mouth moved from her ear to the side of her neck where he lavished the same heated attention on her racing pulse.

Another breathy little sound escaped Tutu. Her blood was coursing with heat not unlike what she had felt while dancing that wild dance with Bradamante. Except this time, the heat pooled in her lower belly and seemed to take a physical form there. Why did she feel so empty, so warm, so wet? Then, Mytho rocked his hips against that hot empty aching place and Tutu threw her head back, gasping loudly. Again, he pushed against her, rubbing, while his mouth still burned at the hollow of her throat.

He pulled back a little, whispering, “Does that feel good, Tutu?”

She nodded, unable to speak.

Then, he slowly unzipped the nearly-invisible zipper at the back of her beautiful dress. The white fabric clinging to her small breasts loosened and slipped down. For a moment, Tutu lifted her hands to cover herself, but Mytho captured her hands, pressed a kiss to the palm of each of them, and lowered them to her sides. His golden eyes gleamed in the dimness of the night. Then, breaking their eye contact, he lowered his lips to the exposed swell of her breasts.

As he had done to her neck, he lavished burning attention on her naked skin, kissing and nipping her soft flesh. His lips feathered all over one small breast, his hand lifting from its position on her side to cup the other. She made a soft sound, her back arching into his hand and lips. Mytho’s tongue darted out, lightly licking the salt from her skin. He pressed a kiss just over her nipple and then lightly circled it with his tongue. His fingers did the same to her other breast, pinching and rolling gently.

When he tugged her nipples with his teeth and fingers almost harshly, Tutu cried out breathlessly. Mytho’s hips ground against her aching core and the pain vanished, replaced with pleasure. It was very much like dancing en pointe, slightly painful but so beautiful and so worth it. Mytho kissed her softly then, making her melt, and his hand trailed from her breast to the place where his hips were tormenting her. He cupped that aching place and she writhed beneath him.

His fingers found the crevice of her entrance through the thin layer of tights and pressed. Something made a wet sound that made Tutu’s cheeks flush. Was that her? 

Mytho rubbed and pressed at that burning place, his other hand tugging her leotard and tutu further down her body. His hot lips pressed a kiss to her naked stomach, the muscles rippling beneath his caress. At her core, his fingers slipped beneath the crotch of her leotard and began to tug that down as well. 

Tutu lifted her hips from the cool cobblestones, shuddering as the chilly night air kissed her exposed skin. All she was left wearing were her delicate pointe shoes and her white tights. Like a ghost, her leotard and tutu lay beside her in the darkness, perched like a crumpled dancer. Mytho kissed her bare belly again, his hand returning to her aching center and cupping her firmly. She rocked her hips against his hand, gasping softly. The friction of her damp tights made her want to cry out.

Then, Mytho’s warm hand slipped within her tights and touched her naked sex. Tutu gasped, her legs caught between wanting to squeeze shut in embarrassment or spread apart to grant him greater access to a place of such pleasure. He stroked her, the night filled with that wet sound again and Tutu’s small quiet gasps. Then, something pushed into a secret place inside of her and she clung to Mytho like he was her anchor in the storm.

“Tutu,” he murmured, lips against the shell of her ear.

“Y-yes,” she gasped out.

As if that had been an answer to an unspoken question, a second finger slipped inside her. She threw her head back in bliss. Mytho’s touch was quick, beginning to thrust inside her until her body felt like nothing more than a mass of quivering nerves and emotions. She gasped desperately, tugging him close to kiss her deeply. This time, her tongue was quicker than his, drawing him into the passionate dance. Then, white-hot heat gathered at her very core and she felt herself grow wetter.

She cried out sharply, quivering in Mytho’s arms. She had no idea what had just rocked her, but her arms went limp and heavy. Her body was burning and she had never felt so spent. It was just like the passionate wild dance she had shared with Bradamante. She collapsed against the cobblestones, staring up at Mytho, watching him as he began to do something strange. He unlaced her pointe shoes and then pulled off her tights. Completely nude, Princess Tutu just lay there at her prince’s mercy.

His golden eyes were bright, glazed, eager. There was something pressing at the crotch of his white pants and he worked swiftly to free it. It was long and hard in his hand, the tip glistening strangely. Tutu didn’t know what it was, but she knew that she wanted it. He slipped between her still-parted legs and the hot hard length of him pressed against her soaking core. He lifted her hips a little higher and her legs wrapped around him. Then, he began to fill her.

Tears sprang to the corners of Tutu’s eyes, but she did not cry out. Mytho was staring into her face, curious, watching her reaction. When he pain reached its limit and she was about to cry out, he kissed her deeply, their tongues tangling. Then, before either of them even knew it, he was sheathed completely inside her small body. The head of him was pressed deep against the entrance to her womb and she could feel her body stretching to accommodate him.

Mytho whispered, “Tutu, you feel so… What is this feeling?”

“Ah,” was all she could manage as he rocked his hips against her.

He began to move, his pace deep and quick. Tutu’s small breasts bounced, captivating Mytho’s curious eyes until he cupped the jiggling mounds. Her nipples were hard, pressing against his palms, and her mouth began to kiss him desperately. He thrust into her, gasping softly as the feelings coursed and assaulted him. Tutu was clinging to him, her insides hot and sticky, and her breathy moans making his heart pound. He had never felt this way before—not ever with Rue.

Something coiled low in his body, lower than his belly. His pace increased, growing deeper, harder, and more frenzied. Tutu’s small hands fisted in his shirt and her skin was glowing white in the night. Her cheeks were flushed pink, her lips damp and parted, and her eyes filled with light. She looked so… so… She looked like she was in heaven, blissful, wrapped in pleasure—like Fakir did when he danced, like Rue did when she was pressed at Mytho’s side.

Then, Mytho felt it too. Something raced through him, spilling out into Tutu’s waiting body. She gasped, her small body seizing beneath him as something hot filled her to the brim. Then, he collapsed down against her naked breasts, breathing hard. That part of him that had been so filled with pleasure grew soft and slipped from her body, making her shiver. They lay together on the cool cobblestones, gasping for breath, trying to understand.

“Is this… how I feel for you, Tutu?” Mytho asked her after a long moment.

But Tutu didn’t understand this emotion either. She stroked his pale hair and didn’t answer.

“What is this feeling?” he whispered again.

Still, she did not respond because she didn’t know.

Appearing from the shadows as suddenly as a ghost, Fakir was standing over them. His arms were folded over his chest, his green eyes dark and mean. “What do you think you’re doing Mytho?” he demanded of the young heartless prince. “And you, Tutu,” he barked. His cheeks reddened and he looked away. “Put some clothes on, for heaven’s sake!”

Her face going red to match Fakir’s, Tutu scrambled from beneath Mytho. Something wet and warm ran down her leg, dripped from her core. Quickly, she grabbed her discarded clothing and dashed away without even saying goodbye. The magic pendant swung cool and strange against her naked breasts. Then, she hid herself within the shadows, dressing quickly and also half-listening to what Fakir was saying to Mytho.

“What was that feeling, Fakir?” Mytho was asking the knight. “What do I feel for Tutu?”

“Lust,” Fakir said plainly, grabbing his friend’s arm and pulling him to his feet. “Nothing more.”

“What is lust, Fakir?” Mytho asked curiously.

“A useless emotion,” he growled.

But Tutu knew what lust was and her heart broke just a little. Even though she knew she was princess fated to never be with her prince, she had thought that beautiful wanting expression in his eyes was love. To find out that it was lust… Lust was nothing more than a craving, an uncontrolled desire, an illicit sexual appetite. 

It was nothing like love.

But even so, she was happy she had returned that emotion to Mytho. It had given her this moment, this one moment, to treasure forever. Even if she was never to be with her prince, at least she had been with him this one time, on this one moonlit night, and that was really all she could wish for. She was happy with that.

X X X

(1) Fun fact, number one: Bradamante is an Italian name meaning, “Wild Lover.” Fits very well, no? 

(1) Fun fact, number two: When I wrote a short story in school about the Seven Deadly Sins, I made Bradamante the embodiment of the emotion of lust. I liked it so much that I decided to reuse it.

This came out a little more melancholy at the end than I originally planned it to be, but that seemed more in character for everyone. Oh well, I still love the way it came out. (Silly Fakir snuck in there! Get out of my chapter, Fakir! It’s not your turn to show up yet!)

Questions, comments, concerns?


	2. Passionate Rage Behind the Prince's Back

I was listening to Hollywood Undead’s song, “My Black Dahlia,” while I wrote this. There’s an awesomely dark Fakir and Rue video for the song, too. Here’s a link: www. youtube. com /watch?v=znm-XJe0lI4

Pairing: Fakir and Rue.

Summary: Because Mytho is emotionless, he can’t give Rue everything she needs, but Fakir can. He can give her all his rage and aggression and passion.

X X X

Rue felt his eyes on her as she led Mytho through the school ground, hanging on his arm like a piece of pretty candy. Actually, it was quite the opposite. Mytho was hanging more on her arm, on her every word, than she ever was on his. He did whatever she asked on him, even if her request was outlandish or cruel. Heartless, emotionless, he did whatever she demanded of him, even kiss her and tell her he loved her. She never tired of hearing that. He was like a pretty little doll, like an animal, just following her.

But Fakir…

Rue felt his eyes burning a hole into her back. His gaze was like a physical touch, a hard shove that nearly took her off her feet. It seared her, bored through her, until she felt nearly naked. Even from across the school yard, she could practically feel the emotion just in his scalding gaze. 

He was nothing like Mytho.

And Rue knew that if she waited… If she just waited a little longer… At her back, she heard someone yell out, voice rising indignantly in protest. She heard quick light footsteps and she knew she had waited long enough. A moment later, Fakir’s hard grip closed around her elbow, yanking her around to face him. Mytho turned with Rue, almost helplessly. He was like a little fish pulled along in the wake of a large ship, tossed carelessly by the tide.

“Mytho,” Fakir ordered the heartless prince coldly. “Go back to our room.”

Mytho nodded and said, “Yes Fakir.”

Rue released her hold on him, pressing a finger to her cheek. Obligingly, Mytho left a kiss there and Fakir’s hands clenched into fists, his eyes narrowing into an even fiercer glare. Rue merely smiled at him, haughty, knowing she was making him angry. For a moment, Fakir and Rue stood nearly side by side, watching Mytho leave in silence. 

Fakir still had a grip on Rue’s elbow. Now, he pulled on her impatiently. “Come with me,” he hissed. “We need to talk.”

Rue wrenched away, brushing at invisible lint on her skirt as if she didn’t have a care in the world. “What if I don’t want to go with you, Fakir?”

His green eyes narrowed, nearly hateful. “Come. With. Me. Rue.”

She flicked her eyes over him. “Make me,” she taunted him.

But Fakir was not one to be taunted. He grabbed her again, his fingers drilling into her hard enough to bruise. Without another word, he simply dragged her way. Despite the strength she had as a ballerina, Rue could do nothing to prevent Fakir from hauling her off. He was bigger and stronger than her. And besides, it wasn’t as if she didn’t really want to go with him.

Fakir dragged her all the way to the small gazebo at the edge of the school grounds, nestled just on the border of the forest with the chilly lake beyond. He slammed her back against one of the pillars, pinning one of her wrists with his hand so she couldn’t get away from him. Rue looked up into his face, taking in the emotion in his dark eyes—even if it was mostly rage and frustration.

“Well, what do you want, Fakir?” she demanded, knowing it would get a rise out of him. She knew exactly how to push all his buttons.

He bristled. “Stop hanging around Mytho,” he snarled at her. “He’s not your little plaything.”

She tossed her dark waves of hair, stinging Fakir’s face. “He’s not yours either, Fakir. Mytho doesn’t belong to you.”

“I found him!” Fakir snapped, pushing her harder into the post with his body.

Rue shifted her body so she wouldn’t be crushed by the brute strength of him. “And? I grew up with Mytho, just like you. And I love him. Do you love him, Fakir?” She glanced up, red eyes taunting him. “Or do you just want to keep him close so you won’t become the worthless knight who couldn’t even find the strength to die?”

Fakir’s lip pulled back in a purely animal display of rage. “You wretched—”

She smiled, all pearly white teeth. “Oh? A little too close to the truth for comfort, Fakir?”

He snarled and crushed himself against her. His breath was hot, inches from her lips, and his chest thrummed with an angry growl. Then, he realized how close their bodies were and put a little space between them. Rue’s eyes flashed down, noticing the growing tent in his pants, and was once again pleased that being a girl allowed her to hide her feelings. She thought that maybe her breath was coming a little short, but she could easily blame that on some other emotion. She could even blame it on the hot weather. But Fakir’s feelings were painfully obviously exposed. 

Yes, fighting turned Fakir on. 

It aroused Rue, too. 

They needed to fight with each other because they couldn’t clash with the real object of their frustration—Mytho. He was so emotionless, so heartless, so useless… Rue wanted the passion of a real lover and Fakir wanted the prince to stand on his own two feet. They were both sick and tired of the doll-like prince. But they couldn’t tell him those things. He wouldn’t even understand the words they used. He didn’t know what passion was, or rage, or aggression, or even desire. He didn’t even know what he wanted. So, the only other person they could fight with was each other.

Rue smirked at Fakir.

He met her crimson eyes for a split second.

Then, he crushed her hard against the pillar at her back, the breath rushing from her lungs. Abruptly, his mouth crashed down to hers, burning with his passion and frustration and anger. Rue’s free hand came up, clawing at his chest and shoulders. He grabbed her wrist with one hand and pinned both hands to the pillar above her head. His kiss devoured her lips, tongue pushing past her teeth and deep into her mouth. He dominated her completely, not even allowing her to breathe.

Her lungs burned. She thrashed against Fakir’s lips, but he wouldn’t allow her to break the kiss. He was too angry and suddenly, Rue was too. How dare he try to control her—she was not one to be controlled! She bit his tongue, hard, immediately tasting his blood. He pulled back sharply, the corner of his lips stained bright red. Rue smirked at him, trying to seem powerful and in control even as she sucked in a desperate breath of air. 

Fakir wiped his mouth with the back of his free hand, still holding her captive with his hips and his other hand. He gauged her expression a moment, favoring his tongue. Then, he smirked at her, his green eyes gleaming with emotion. His eyes were nothing like Mytho’s. Heat rushed to Rue’s core and she squirmed, her thighs rubbing together. Shamefully, a soft sound escaped her lips and she quickly looked away from Fakir’s face. But it was too late. He knew he had her.

“Oh?” he teased her. “Is there something you want from me, Rue?”

Her face flushed, burning with something between shame and eager arousal.

“Something your dear prince can’t give you?” he taunted.

Fakir’s hand wandered her body teasingly. His fingertip just barely traced the outline of her nipple through her blouse. She had been in a hurry after class and hadn’t even bothered to put on a bra. Now, she wasn’t sure if she even regretted that. She shuddered against Fakir. His fingers traced a whirling path lower and lower, teasing just at the waistband of her skirt.

“What do you want from me, Rue?” he demanded.

Her lips parted, not to give in like some pampered princess though. “Go fuck yourself, Fakir,” she snarled angrily.

He grinned, lowering his face close to hers. His hot breath tickled her exposed throat and she very nearly trembled. “Why would I do that when you’re right here?” he growled deep in his chest. Then, he boldly cupped her scorching core.

Rue’s head tipped back, a harsh sound escaping her lips. Fakir traced the seam of her drenched nether lips, pressing at her entrance through her panties. His thumb was resting on her clit, pressing hard and swirling fast. Rue’s legs trembled, her thighs quivering. 

“You’re soaking wet,” Fakir teased her.

She turned her face away. “Don’t say things like that!”

“It’s true,” he told her. He pushed aside the crotch of her panties and touched her naked snatch. Juices dripped down her inner thighs, dripped on the wooden floor of the gazebo. His fingers were hot and as rough as a cat’s tongue. For a quick moment, he stroked her without ever entering the place where she was dying for him. Then, he raised his fingers in front of her face. “See?”

Her cheeks burned and she was unable to speak.

Languidly, clearly tormenting her, Fakir lifted the drenched fingers to his lips and licked them slowly clean of her nectar. All the while, Rue squirmed dejectedly, neglected and still so wanting. He finished and made a soft sound. “Delicious,” he murmured.

Rue glared at him. Then, she hooked one lean leg behind his knee and pulled him close. The rough fabric of his pants bumped her core, naked where her panties had been pushed aside, and a throb of eagerness went through her swollen clit like a second heartbeat. 

He grinned at her, teasing. “What, Rue?”

“You know what!” she snarled.

“I want you to say it. As punishment for biting me.”

She glanced around. “We’re outside, in public—”

“Then you’d better hurry before someone walks by,” he hissed to her.

She glared at him fiercely. “I wish I’d bitten you harder.”

He chuckled. “Just say it, Rue.”

“No!” she shouted.

He ground his erection against her throbbing empty slit. She moaned, desperately rocking her hips forward against him. Then, he stopped, pulling out of her reach. Her hands were still pinned above her head, her legs now kept apart by his body between them. She was helpless and she was pissed and she just wanted him to—

“Damn it, Fakir,” she snarled. “Fuck me!”

He freed himself quickly, practiced, without ever releasing her pinned wrists. He wanted her to know that despite how she controlled Mytho like a puppet, she would not have any power over him. He was his own person with a heart and with emotions and he was sick of her shit. He grabbed her ass, kneading the cheek hard enough to make her gasp out sharply and glare at him. Then, he hefted her up a little, allowing her to get her legs around his waist. 

He spread her open and waited a moment, letting her feel vulnerable as the cool outside air kissed her exposed pussy. She squirmed, her red eyes like coals from a fire. Just as she was about to snap at him, he slammed into her to the hilt. That effectively shut her up. She threw her head back against the pillar, a whining little moan escaping her throat. Her legs squeezed his hips almost painfully hard and he was amazed by the strength in her legs. 

He didn’t give her any more time to adjust to his intrusion into her body. It wasn’t like it was anything new to her. He began a quick pace, her body knocking backwards against the hard pillar. Her breath exploded from her lungs with each thrusts, her breasts jiggling beneath her blouse, and her hot slippery insides clenched tightly around him. He crashed his mouth to hers again, knowing she wouldn’t dare bite him now, not when he was giving her exactly what she wanted.

And she didn’t. She had given in. The powerful she-wolf was putty in his hands. Her lips melted beneath him, her mouth opening wide and welcoming, and her body tried desperately to meet his pace to no avail. He didn’t give her a shred of control. Finally, because her breath had reached that desperate open-mouthed gasping stage, he released her wrists. She found his strong shoulders and clung to them, gasping, unable to stop herself.

Fakir kept one hand on her ass, supporting her. The other went to her hungry little clit and flicked it hard with his nail. She screamed, not Fakir’s name, but Mytho’s because that was how it really was in her heart. His anger rekindled in his chest, burning. So he could fight with her, he could fuck her, but he could never love her. He slammed into her deep, pummeling the mouth of her womb as she rode out her orgasm. Then, he felt his own release nearing and pulled out of her. 

Boneless and spent, Rue slid to her knees at his feet. He gripped his shaft in his hand and milked it, stroking fast and squeezing hard. Though his own touch was nothing like her burning insides, he still came quickly. His semen splattered on her face, sticking in her inky hair. Unthinking, she opened her mouth and he pushed inside her hot cavern. Her eyes slid closed and he could practically see her imagining Mytho on the insides of her lids. Her tongue was too gentle, to caressing. 

He pushed himself down the back of her throat. She gagged. As he pulled out, she nipped at him, but he had been expecting that and evaded her gnashing teeth. Then, he took a step away from her, out of her range to attack him, and put away his sensitive spent dick. She wiped her face, grimaced, and then glared at him.

“You’re an asshole, Fakir,” she snarled.

He found a hankie in his pocket and tossed it to her. “I’d get cleaned up if I were you, Rue.” 

Then, he put his hands in his pockets and walked away. Rue shouted something at his back, but he ignored her. In no time at all, he found his way back to the dorm room he shared with Mytho. The heartless prince was sitting at the window, staring out at the birds or the sky or maybe at nothing at all. He turned to Fakir when he entered the room, golden eyes bright and blank.

“Hello Fakir,” Mytho said plainly. “Did you and Rue have a good talk?”

Fakir flopped down on his bed, nursing his bitten tongue. “Yeah,” was all he said to Mytho and the prince didn’t ask for anything more. 

Sometimes, it was good that Mytho was so much like a doll, so emotionless, so uncaring. If he had had his heart back, surely be would have been angered by his worthless knight banging his precious princess in potent passion and rage. Any normal person would have been angered by that. But then again, if Mytho had his heart, there would be no reason for Fakir and Rue to take out their frustrations on each other behind his back.

X X X

HAPPY FRIDAY THE THIRTEENTH, EVERYONE!

Questions, comments, concerns?

Review!


	3. A Problem with Duck's Panties

For Mangaka-chan. (I hate the word ‘bloomers’ so let’s just pretend they had panties back in the Victorian age, okay? Along with washers and dryers, hehe…)

Pairing: Duck and Fakir.

Summary: After a mishap, Lord Fakir has a little fun with his innocent maid.

X X X

The manor was built in the late 1800s in the beautifully gabled and ornately-crafted Queen Anne style. (1) It was supposed to appear more domestic than the masculine and stony façade of the Second Empire mansions before it, but Duck always thought that it looked like a great castle none the less. It was a masterpiece of wood and stone, shining glass windows and a polished wrap-around porch. The paint was perfect, the grounds kept in perfect order by a squad of gardeners, and there were thick woods surrounding the house like a privacy barrier. 

To the outside eye, it looked like a beautiful and perfect place to live. It looked like something out of a fairytale and Duck could appreciate the beauty of it, but she was never able to see it as such. That was because she, along with several other maids, was gifted with the daunting task of keeping it clean and in perfect order. 

With a sigh, Duck let the fine curtains slide closed over the window of her small bedroom. She lived with two other maids and her long time friends, Pike and Lilie, in a   
small cottage nestled in the woods behind the manor. It was still early and Pike and Lilie weren’t awake yet. Soon, they would have to head over to the mansion to prepare breakfast for their lord, but Duck still had some time before she had to report to work. Since she was sore from scrubbing the fine hardwood floors of the mansion the day before, she decided to treat herself to a bath.

Usually, Duck gathered her clean clothes for the day and dressed in the bathroom after she finished bathing, but it was still early and she decided to forgo her usual ritual. Taking only her towel, she let herself into the bathroom and started the hot water running. Once the tub was half-filled, she stripped and slipped into the warm water with a sigh.

There were worse jobs, she supposed as she sank in the water up to her chin. 

Yeah, Lord Fakir could be a pain—he was a grumpy guy with a constant scowl, but he didn’t go grabbing her ass of anything like that. She had had a job like that once before, back when she had been cleaning the palace of Prince Mytho. Though beautiful, that young man proved to be quite the pervert. The way he had treated her made Duck into the conservative and shy young woman she was now though he had never forced himself on her. Plus, she had a warm bed and a nice bath and three meals a day. It could have been much, much worse.

…

As usual, Lilie woke before Pike and roused her friend. 

Then, she went through the cottage in search of Duck. Sometimes, Duck woke up far too early and other times she slept far to late—today was the former rather than the latter. The bathroom door was closed, probably locked, and she could hear water sloshing inside. So, Duck must have been taking a bath. She deserved a break anyway. 

She was Lord Fakir’s favorite to boss about. 

Smiling and humming to herself, Lilie moved through the cottage collecting their dirtied clothes. It was well past laundry day since Fakir had been keeping them quite busy and today she was going to find the time to wash their things even if it killed her. In fact, she was going to do it right now! She didn’t know about Duck, but she and Pike were on their last pairs of clean underwear.

She entered Duck’s room and gathered up all her friend’s dirty clothing, stuffing it into the basket at her hip. Then, she told Pike that she was heading up to the manor to throw their clothes into the wash and to make sure Duck got out of the bath in time to go to work. Pike nodded, still looking sleepy. Lilie walked through the cool dewy morning, watching as the light in the library of the manor clicked on. 

Well, their lord was up and awake. Soon, it would be time to get to work.

…

Duck got out of the bath, wrapped herself in her towel, and padded to her room. She had left out some clean clothes on her neatly-made bed, but they were gone. In mild panic, she searched her room for the clothing, but couldn’t find it. She didn’t want to go out in her towel, even among Pike and Lilie. Ever since she had worked for Prince Mytho, she had been incredibly conservative and timid about the vulnerability of her naked body. So, she quickly dressed in her uniform and stuck her head out the door.

“Pike? Lilie?” she called.

There was no answer.

Hoping some clean panties, or any pair of panties at all, had materialized in her room in those few seconds she wasn’t looking for them, she checked her drawers again, but they were still empty. Gripping her skirt with one hand and holding it down far below her butt, she hurried out into the small kitchen of the cottage. 

Pike was sitting there, waking up over a mug of coffee.

“Pike?” Duck asked. “Do you know what happened to the clothes on my bed?”

Pike yawned. “Lilie took all the dirty clothes up to the manor to be washed.”

“What?” Duck gasped. “But I—”

Lilie opened the front door, toeing off her damp shoes. “Good morning, Duck,” she said to her friend. “I’m glad you’re up. We need to get to work.”

“Um, Lilie, those clothes I left on my bed were clean,” Duck said.

Lilie stared at her a moment. “But you always bring your clean clothes into the bathroom with you.”

Duck’s mouth fell open, closed, and opened again with no sound coming out.

“Duck?” Pike asked.

“Those were clean! I needed them.”

“Oops,” Lilie said with a roll of her shoulders. “I already put them in the wash.”

Duck’s eyes widened further. “But I need those panties.”

“Don’t you have another pair?” Pike asked.

“No!” Duck yelped. “Everything is dirty. Those were my last clean pair and you took all the other clothes to be washed.”

Lilie lifted a hand to her mouth, smiling faintly behind her fingers. “Well, isn’t this just the cutest little problem!”

“It’s not cute,” Duck shouted. “I need a pair of underwear. Let me borrow some of yours.”

Lilie and Pike exchanged a glance and then said in unison, “We’re wearing our last clean pairs. Everything else is in the wash.”

The blood drained from Duck’s face, feelings and flashes of working for Prince Mytho going through her mind. “W-what am I going to do?”

Up at the manor, they heard the large bell on the front porch toll loudly, a signal that Fakir was awake and ready for them to come up to the house and start making breakfast. He was not the most patient of people, especially this early in the morning. It echoed ominously across the still field between the house and small servants’ cottage, heedless of the problems the trio of maids was having at the moment.

“Well,” Lilie said, still smiling faintly. “If I were you, I’d be careful not to bend over too far in front of Lord Fakir or else he’ll be able to see your… you-know-what…”

Abruptly, the blood flooded back into Duck’s face. “Lilie! How could you do this to me? This isn’t funny!”

The bell tolled again.

“I bet you have the cutest little butt!” Lilie giggled.

“Sorry, Duck,” Pike said and grasped her friend by the sleeve of her uniform. “But it’s time to work now. It’s only one day without panties. I’m sure you’ll be fine. Nothing bad will happen.”

“Just try not to fall down!” Lilie said with a laugh, her blonde hair bouncing. “Or bend over, Duck. You’re so cute! It’ll be okay.”

But Duck wasn’t nearly so certain that everything would go well. In fact, she was downright terrified.

…

Lord Fakir would have been a handsome man if not for the fact that his face was carved with a perpetual frown. He had thick dark hair scraped back into a ponytail at the base of his neck, deep forest-green eyes, and flawless olive skin. He used to be a knight for the perverted Prince Mytho, but an injury had forced him to retire to a mountain retreat. Now, he was an intellectual and spent most of his time cooped up in his massive library, writing and fussing over his latest book.

He was sitting at the long dining room table, which had been polished to a shine, reading silently, when Pike, Lilie, and Duck entered the mansion. The three dipped into low curtsies. A whisper of cool air kissed Duck’s bare bottom and she jerked upright with a sharp yelp. Everyone looked at her strangely, but thankfully didn’t say anything.

“I see you guys are doing laundry,” he remarked.

“We needed to,” Pike said firmly.

“Yes,” Lilie agreed. “We were all on our last pair of clean panties.”

A slight flush colored Fakir’s face. “Right, okay then,” he said. “Here’s what we need to accomplish today. I need someone to start to dust all the books and bookshelves in the library. I’m aware that it’s going to take more than one day to do this. I’m having a small gathering later tonight and I need someone to prepare several different snacks. And finally, I need the guest bedrooms to be fluffed and prepared for guests.” He glanced over them. “Sort out the tasks as you like.”

The three put their heads together for a moment, whispering.

“I’ll take the cooking,” Pike said. “I’m the best at it.”

Duck nodded. 

“I’ll prepare the guest bedrooms,” Lilie said. “It will give me a chance to check out our laundry.”

“Will you bring me a pair of panties as soon as they’re clean?” Duck asked.

“They’ll be soaking wet,” Lilie protested.

“I don’t care,” she said. “Just bring them to me.”

“Sure, Duck,” Lilie agreed.

“Then I’ll take care of dusting the library,” Duck said.

They turned back to Fakir and told him their decisions. He listened, nodded, and turned his attention back to his book. With that, the three hurried off to complete their assigned tasks. The air whispered against Duck’s exposed bottom, making her shiver and nervously scurry. She just kept thinking of her life as Prince Mytho’s maid and what he would do to her if he had ever caught her working without panties on. It would have been more an invitation enough for him. Even though she Fakir had never raised a hand to touch her, she was still nervous. 

But the feeling of nervousness soon shrank to mere embarrassment. Fakir had never moved to touch her. In fact, as an ex-knight, he had plenty of lovely young women chasing after him. Why would he care about a flat-chested maid? Now, she was even more embarrassed. As if she was that pretty—ha! 

She grabbed a feather-duster from the hall closet of cleaning supplies and hurried her way to the library. When she yanked open the door, the gust of air flipped up the skirt of her dress. With a soft shriek, she pulled it down, glanced around with her cheeks burning, and tried to pretend that she was wearing panties.

…

Duck had always loved Fakir’s tightly-packed library. She was enjoying cleaning the wonderful leather-bound books with their titles embossed in shining gold-leaf. Fakir had a lot of first editions, gifts from his friend the prince, and treasured them. Not even one bookmark was out of place in his library. So, Duck took great and delicate care with everything she dusted. She took each book of the shelf individually, dusted it, and set it aside. Then, after she had removed all the books from one shelf, she dusted the shelf and put them all back—always mindful to keep them in order. 

She was enjoying herself so greatly that she had nearly forgotten that she wasn’t wearing panties. She climbed the small ladder to the top of the bookshelf and began dusting from the top down she everything would be perfectly clean. She hummed to herself as she worked.

She heard the door open behind her and figured it was Lilie, coming upstairs with a pair of wet but clean panties for Duck. She half-turned to see, still smiling. “Lilie, do you have them?” but her voice trailed off, her eyes widening desperately.

It wasn’t Lilie who had entered the library. It was Fakir. 

He had the book he had been reading tucked under his arm and glanced up at Duck where she was standing on the ladder to dust the top shelves of the bookcase she was currently cleaning. “It looks wonderful,” he complimented. “You always do a wonderful job on the library.”

Duck just stared at him, her face ghost pale.

“What?” he asked.

“N-nothing!” she gasped out and turned her attention quickly back to cleaning.

She could hear Fakir moving around the library behind her and panic began to consume her. She was standing on the ladder above him by several shelves, wearing no undergarments. Though her maid’s dress came to her knees, it would not save her modesty if he happened to look up. Her legs trembled, her hands shook, and she found it impossible to focus on cleaning. She tried to pull a book off the shelf to clean it, but it slipped from her hands and fell to the floor just beneath the ladder.

In terror, she turned to look at Fakir, hoping she could scramble down to retrieve it before he noticed.

But luck was not on her side. He paused and spotted the book, but didn’t scold her. Instead, he moved from the shelf nearby where he was searching for another book and picked up the one Duck had dropped. He was standing directly beneath her now and when he straightened up to hand her the book, he would be able to see right up her skirt. Duck trembled, her face flushing with embarrassment. Now, the feather duster fell from her hand and landed on Fakir’s back in the cloud of grey-brown dust. 

He sneezed, looking sharply up at her.

Duck shrieked madly and plunged backwards off the ladder. She landed hard on her back, the wind knocked out of her, but her modesty was still intact—for the most part. She scrambled to her feet, holding her skirt down over her knees. “I-I-I-I’m sorry!” Duck gasped out.

Fakir glared at her, brushing dust off his head and shoulders. “What the hell, Duck?”

“I-I-I-I,” Duck gasped against. “I’m sorry!”

Then, she bolted and fled the library. Fakir would have let her go and have little time to sort out whatever was bothering her that she was acting so strangely, but he heard a loud crash and darted after her to see what had happened. Duck had fallen down the stairs, something she did with some frequency, and was now lying at the bottom of the flight. What stopped Fakir in his tracks was the stunning view of her bare ass that was visible for the whole world to see. 

W-why wasn’t she wearing panties?

Duck sat up slowly, rubbing her head with a groan of pain, but she pulled herself together, got to her feet, and scurried away quickly. Fakir wanted to call out to her, to demand what on earth was going on, but he was too shocked to speak. He just stood at the top of the stairs, staring at the place where Duck had fallen with dust all over his back. After a moment, he too pulled himself back together and returned to the library to straighten the fallen book and forgotten feather duster.

Duck caught up with Lilie in the laundry room just as her fellow maid was moving their soaked-but-clean laundry from the washer to the dryer. “Lilie,” she gasped, her face flushed with embarrassment. “I need my panties—now!”

“Alright, alright,” Lilie said, sorting through the knots of damp cloth. She found a pair of Duck’s panties, wrung them out as best she could, and handed them over. “How’s cleaning the library going, Duck?”

She subjected her friend to a fierce glare, turned on her heel, and stalked from the laundry room.

“Ah,” Lilie said with a sigh. “Duck is so cute!”

Duck returned to the library sheepishly. She felt much better to be wearing panties, but they were cold and wet. Thankfully, the material of her dress was black and wouldn’t show the dampness as it seeped into the cloth. Her skin prickled with chilly goose bumps and she entered the library after taking a deep breath to steady her nerves. Fakir was sitting in an overstuffed armchair, reading, pretending nothing had happened, though his back was still rather dusty where Duck had dropped the feather duster on him.

“Um,” she whispered. “I’m… I’m sorry about what happened, Lord Fakir.”

Fakir glanced up at her from the book in his lap. “What did happen, Duck?”

She blushed, cheeks flaming. “Um, I, um, ah, I,” she sputtered uselessly.

“Well?” he demanded. 

She bit her lip. “I just… I… I had to… pee?”

He lifted a brow. “Really?”

Her blush grew hotter. “Y-yes!”

He stood up and closed the space between them. Duck didn’t realize that she had been backing up until her back collided with a bookcase and Fakir was pressed hard and warm against her front. She shivered, her hands lifting to press against his chest in protest.

“Duck,” he said, his voice low and almost threatening. “Why weren’t you wearing panties?”

Her blood ran cold. “Y-you knew…?”

“I saw when you fell down the stairs,” he said. 

She turned away, cheeks burning like fire. “I…”

“Did you do it on purpose? Are you trying to provoke me?” Fakir had been in an ugly situation like this before—where a maid had acted provocatively in similar ways in order to try to ensnare Fakir in a relationship. He was the prince’s best friend and fairly rich and he did not want to get into that situation again. He was sick of women being after him for his money. “Well, Duck?” he demanded, grabbing her wrists and shaking her a little roughly.

“No!” she protested, trying to pull away. “It was… Lilie washed all our clothes and she screwed up and washed all my panties. I just… I didn’t have any to wear. Pike and Lilie were both on their last pair and couldn’t lend me one. It was just… just an accident!”

Fakir took a step back, releasing her wrists. A little sigh of relief escaped his lips, “Oh.”

Duck rubbed her wrists, glancing up at him. “It was just an accident,” she repeated.

“I believe you,” Fakir said with a nod. “It seems like that kind of thing could happen to you.”

Duck put her hands on her hips. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You are a little,” he paused, “hapless.”

“Hapless!” she repeated indignantly.

“And you’re too innocent to do something like that on purpose,” he added.

Duck wanted to protest, but couldn’t. She was too shy to ever do something like that on purpose. “Yeah,” she murmured more to herself than to Fakir. “I’ve… never even kissed someone…”

But he still heard her softly-spoken words. A small smile pulled at the corner of his lips. She really was just so irresistibly cute—he understood why Mytho hadn’t been able to keep his hands off of her and had sent her to work for Fakir before he did anything he might regret. (Fakir had significantly more self-control than Mytho did.) Even so, he found himself leaning forwards, his warm breath tickling her skin. 

“Oh?” he murmured, “Would you like to?”

Duck lifted her eyes, meeting his gaze. Her lips parted, but Fakir didn’t give her a chance to respond. He pressed his lips to hers gently, not wanting to force her into doing anything if she didn’t want to. Duck gasped, her blue eyes fluttering, and Fakir’s tongue slipped between her parted lips. 

His arms wrapped around her tightly, pulling her flush against his chest. A soft sound escaped her lips, almost pleasure, and her fingers knotted in his shirt. She pressed against him, her body trembling in his grasp. Her mouth was inexperienced, but passionate. Fakir almost felt swept away by her.

Then, he broke the kiss. Duck’s head flopped back and she gasped for breath, her eyes lidded heavily as she gazed up at him. Her throat was right there, so vulnerable, so pale, the pulse beating beneath her thin white skin. Fakir couldn’t resist pressing his lips there, his hot tongue gently lapping at her soft skin. She shuddered, her hands gripping his shoulders almost desperately. Another soft sound escaped her lips, not quite a moan, but definitely pleasurable. 

Fakir cupped her buttocks and was shocked to find that she was cold and damp. That was just… strange. He kissed her, distracting her as he slipped his hands beneath the black skirt of her maid’s uniform. Her panties were soaking wet and not in a good way. She shivered as his warm hands kneaded her soft chilled flesh.

“Why are your panties soaking wet, Duck?” Fakir whispered into the soft skin beneath her ear.

“I took them out of the laundry before they were dry. I just… I needed them.”

He teased the lobe of her ear with his tongue. “Well, you don’t need them right now, do you?”

She trembled in his arms. “D-do I?” she whispered.

“Aren’t you cold?” he asked.

She nodded. “A little.”

“How about I warm you up?” he asked silkily. 

Duck just gazed at him, drowning in his green eyes. She didn’t nod, but she didn’t shake her head either. 

Fakir pressed his lips to hers again, distracting her with a devouring kiss. Beneath her dress, his palms slipped beneath the behind of her cold panties and cupped the chilled globes of flesh. Then, he tugged them down her thighs. The weight of the water and some of her own liquid heat made the panties swiftly hit the floor with a wet slap. Duck jolted, nearly pulled away, but Fakir only deepened the kiss and she forgot her worries.

His lips trailed down her throat again, kissing and licking tenderly. He pressed a kiss to the hollow of her throat exposed above the neck of her blouse and then to the tip of her collarbone. Meanwhile, his fingers slowly lifted her skirt to her waist, letting the cool air kiss her intimate places. She gasped and shuddered, but tangled her fingers in his dark hair like an anchor. His lips ghosted over her clothed breasts, burning a path to her naked core. 

Then, his face was level with her cool damp sex, his warm breath teasing her chilled skin. She trembled against him, caught between want to spread her legs and clench them closed. He pressed a kiss just above the thatch of auburn hair guarding her secrets. His hands splayed on her breasts, kneading them gently through the fabric, while he only breathed warm air on her damp chilly sex. Goose bumps stood out on her legs and he could feel her nipples through her blouse.

Then, from the corner of his eye, she spotted the feather duster still lying discarded on the floor. He had meant to pick it up, but had been too distracted by seeing Duck’s naked behind. Now, he was glad he had forgotten it. It was the perfect thing to help her relax under his ministrations. He grasped it, feeling the soft silky feathers between his fingers, and slowly brought to her thighs. Lightly, he ghosted the feather duster up the outside of her thigh, tickling her just a little.

She jolted, a soft squeal of surprise escaping her lips. Fakir danced the feathers across her bare thighs, teasing and tickling her. She wriggled before him, adorably. Her legs parting as he tickled the outside of her thighs in an attempt to escape the feathers, revealing her flushed flower. Its perfume teased him as greatly as he teased her. He tickled the insides of her thighs, making her clench her legs together. Then, he ran the feathers all around the outside of her sex, making her cry out.

But now, she was wet, sensitive, and practically begging though her innocent mind wasn’t sure what exactly she wanted. When Fakir pressed a kiss to the crease of her hip, her legs slid apart beautifully, welcoming him as they hadn’t before. He smiled, pleased with his own skill, and gently flicked his tongue over her swollen pearl. She cried out, her body jerking against him. His tongue was so hot on her chilly sex that she felt like butter melting on hot toast.

She squirmed, her voice coming out a gasping little cry. “L-Lord Fakir…”

His burning mouth wrapped around her, tongue flicking hard at the place that made her feel like she was coming apart at the seams. He had discarded the feather duster and added his fingers to the mix of his scalding tongue. Those warm digits slipped inside her virginal cavern and she arched her back, a soft cry getting trapped in her throat. He moved his fingers in and out of her body, in and out, going faster and faster. Duck thought she could scream.

Then, suddenly, he stopped, leaving her hanging with a sharp disappointed gasp. She tottered on the cusp of something, unsure what she needed to plummet over into some wondrous abyss. Fakir cupped her ass and lifted her up slightly, her legs automatically wrapping around his narrow hips. She felt something substantially thicker than his fingers bump warm and damp against her empty core, but couldn’t see what it was with the folds of her dress in the way.

“If you want to stop,” he said suddenly, “now would be the time to say so.”

She clung to him. “No, I… I want…” but she didn’t know what she wanted.

Fakir’s nose brushed hers softly and their eyes met. He conveyed something to her and then kissed her, his tongue snaking into her mouth. She gripped his shoulders, holding him close, and kissed him back with all she had in her body. Then, with a swift thrust of his hips, he was inside her. 

Duck had always heard that the pain was unbearable the first time, but she had heard that from ladies forced into arranged marriages. She had wanted this and she was wet and ready. Though there was pain, it was the pain of being stretched and filled completely. The pain was only seconds as her muscles spread apart to accommodate him. Then, there was only the pleasure of his hot shaft deep inside her most secret place.

Fakir paused, his lips leaving hers. “Does it hurt?” he whispered gently.

She shook her head. “No, I’m alright,” she murmured.

He seemed surprised and moved his hips a little. Duck felt him move within her, slipping and sliding against her walls and pressing at the entrance of her womb. A moan escaped her, further shocking Fakir. He thought it truly hurt girls the first time they were with a man. His close friend, Prince Mytho, had said that his princess, Rue, had cried and bled the first time they were together. But Duck… she was smiling faintly, her cheeks pink and adorable. She wasn’t lying to him. For her, it really felt good.

Fakir smiled, his heart warming with male pride and pleasure. He pressed a quick peck to Duck’s lips so that she opened her eyes and looked at him. She smiled at him, her blue eyes sparkling. He began to move in earnest, setting a pace that made her breasts bounce. She clung to him, gasping each time he filled her to the brim and letting out a breath of disappointment each time he slid out to the tip. She could feel the edge again, just out of reach.

“How does it feel?” Fakir asked her.

She made a soft sound. “It’s… it’s so warm…”

He hadn’t expected her to say that, but he smiled nonetheless. “Good.”

She gasped softly as he pushed against her hard. The length of his shaft rubbed her sweet pearl and the edge rushed up to meet her. She wavered on the edge of a knife, white-hot light rushing up on either side of her body. Her blood burned and a tremble rushed through her. It began at her toes and vibrated up her lean legs, gathering at her very core in an explosion of stars. Her muscles clenched down on Fakir’s shaft as she convulsed in orgasm around him.

She threw her head back, a yelp that might have been ‘Lord Fakir’ leaving her lips. Fakir fastened his lips to the junction of her neck and shoulder and sucked hard, but she didn’t feel the mild pain through the throes of her pleasure. Then, wrapped in the twitching sheath of her insides, his own pleasure rocked through his body. He spilled inside her. Usually, when he was with a woman, he took great care to use protection, but with Duck… he suddenly didn’t care if he married her and spent the rest of his life with her. She as such a sweet and beautiful girl.

Panting, Duck clung to him, her body melting limply against him. “L-Lord Fakir,” she whispered.

“Did it feel good?” he asked, pressing his lips to her forehead. 

She nodded. “I’m much warmer now.”

He deadpanned, but smiled at her charm. Still inside her, he carried her to the overstuffed armchair where he had been sitting and reading earlier. Once he set her down, he slid out of her and put himself away. She sighed softly, blissfully, and then realized her legs were still spread. Blushing, she quickly arranged her skirt over her knees. 

“Um,” she whispered. “T-thank you, Lord Fakir.”

He pressed a kiss to her cheek, fetched her panties and the feather duster, and said teasingly, “Well, you should get back to cleaning, shouldn’t you, Duck?” He smirked silkily at her. “Maybe you could even clean my room? I could help you.”

She blushed, scrambled from the chair to her feet, and hurried back to cleaning the bookcases. Her face was cherry-red, but her bright blue eyes were mirthful. Fakir chuckled, picked up his book, and left the library. He knew if he stayed there, he would be tempted to press himself against her back and kiss her neck until she melted into his arms again. After Fakir left the room, Duck took off her cold wet panties and put them in the pocket of her dress. Suddenly, she wasn’t so bothered by being without undergarments anymore.

…

After dinner the next day, just as dusk was falling, a small and well-wrapped box arrived at the maids’ small cottage. It was addressed to Duck with no return address and no postage either. Lilie brought it to Duck’s room with Pike at her heels and deposited it in her friend’s lap. Duck looked up at her curiously.

“What’s this?” Duck asked.

Lilie clapped her hands. “Open it, silly!”

“Yeah, let’s find out!” Pike said.

“Okay, okay,” she relented. Then, Duck tore the paper and lifted the lid on the box. Inside lay a beautiful array of lace and silk panties, some were patterned with flowers, others were made from simple cotton, and they were all most-likely expensive. Buried at the bottom was even a small spread of thongs, crotchless panties, and sexy lingerie.

“Wow!” Pike said.

“How cute!” Lilie shrieked.

“Who sent it to you?” Pike asked.

“Yeah, who?” Lilie added, bouncing all over.

Duck’s face burned in a white-hot blush. She knew exactly who had sent her this present, but she would die before she ever told Pike or Lilie about her new relationship with Lord Fakir. In fact, she thought she might have to kill him now and bury his body where it would never be found. Then again, she fingered the soft silk of one pair of panties, it was a beautiful gift despite what she knew he was referring to. 

X X X

(1) The most famous Queen Anne style Victorian mansion is the William Carson mansion found in Eureka, California. You can easily find pictures of it by googling the name.  
I probably won’t update this story for a while. I need to get back to my other one, Deafening Silence. So, until next time (which will still probably be fairly soon).

Questions, comments, concerns?

Review!


	4. The Cursed Prince

Pairings: Fakir and Mytho. Fakir, Mytho, and Rue threesome.

Summary: In a land ruled by queens, a cursed prince is born. Forced to pose as a princess, Mytho has no idea what his life should be like.

X X X

Once upon a time, there was a strange sort of country that had been ruled for generation after generation by queens and princesses alone. When the young rulers were old enough, they would choose a man to make their husband. Then, that man would live the rest of his life in the luxurious palace. His only task or power was to help the queen bear an heir—a female child to continue the monarchy. And so it had been for hundreds of thousands of years.

But, all was not so perfect in such a fairytale world…

There once was a beautiful queen who insisted on teasing and tormenting the men she brought into her chambers. She toyed with them, but never accepted their seed. She was fascinated and pleased by the power she had over men, endlessly using them up like dolls to be discarded at her will. Yet, there was no word of a daughter or chosen husband. The monarchy was in total disorder. But no one could stop the beautiful and cruel queen.

As time wore on and more and more young men were taken from the kingdom to appease her appetite, the people grew angry and frustrated, mourning the loss of so many of their young men. Then, the cobbler’s son was summoned to the castle to be the queen’s new playmate. In grief and rage, his young lover put a curse upon the haughty queen’s good looks and her body and her mind. Suddenly, like a withering flower before winter, the queen began to age very quickly. With no choice but to bear an heir quickly before her body gave out, she used this man to have a child.

Then, very soon after, she died from the curse set upon her—her reign and terror over. The child she gave birth too, her new heir, was beautiful and strong and healthy. The kingdom rejoiced and the young woman who had cursed the queen learned to be content with her lover living blissfully in the palace, though she could never love him herself. 

But… not all was as it seemed… 

Kept secret from the rest of the country, the beautiful and cruel queen’s child was not a girl who could rule in her place. As the young witch’s final curse, she had given birth to a son, a cursed and lovely young prince. ‘Let the monarchy suffer as I will suffer,’ the cobbler’s young lover thought. And so, the true story begins.

…

Princess Mytho was sleeping peacefully. Watched over by his single maid, he tossed slightly in his dreams. His long pale hair spread across the pillows, so beautifully, like a pattern of lace. The pale cream nightdress he wore slipped up over his thighs, the silken sheets sliding down to his ankles. 

The young maid watched the cursed prince sleep, quietly sewing though he hated it. Fakir, like the young heir, had to keep up the ruse they were forced to play. The prince was presented to the country as a princess—an easy task since Mytho was so beautiful—but, in order for Mytho to be more comfortable, Fakir was made to pretend that he was a girl as well. It was only times like this, when he was forced to sew, that he really minded.

There was a faint knock on the door and then it eased open, welcoming the ‘prince.’ Rue entered the room, her lustrous chocolate hair cut short and her small breasts bound flat. As she entered the room, she quickly pulled off the clothing that made her a man. Naked and just as beautiful as the ‘princess,’ she crossed to Fakir. 

“How is he?” she asked him.

“He’s sleeping,” Fakir said bitterly as he pricked his finger. “Can’t you tell?”

Rue accepted the sewing from Fakir and made a few quick and lovely stitches for the maid. “I meant…”

Fakir glanced at the prince, watching him roll in his empty bed. The nightdress hitched a little higher and the sheets a little lower. It was the moment they had both been waiting for. In sleep, the prince’s panties were exposed and they saw it—his small erection.

Rue smiled softly, brushing at her shoulders in reflex from when she used to have long hair. She crossed to Mytho’s bed, tugging down the panties he wore. His erection sprang free, still slightly soft, but Rue stroked it gently, carefully.

Fakir watched, a sinking feeling in his gut. “Rue, I don’t think—”

She silenced him with a look. “You don’t understand it, Fakir. We need to bear an heir so this farce can be over! I need him to leave his seed inside me, but no matter how I try, I can never make him ejaculate within me,” she hissed. “Just be quiet.”

Fakir sighed softly, glaring at the sewing in his lap. 

It was no wonder the ‘princess’ was never able to ejaculate within his ‘prince.’ Gender roles and sexuality were so mixed up here in this single room in the palace. Rue was a beautiful young woman, forced to dress and act as a man. Fakir was a young man dressed as a maid, acting like a woman alongside their male princess. It would be a wonder if the three of them would ever understand what they were supposed to be doing. Maybe it would have been better if they hadn’t been forced to act this way since they were children.

Rue had managed to harden Mytho’s small erection to the point where she could enter it within herself. Now, she straddled his hips, guiding him within the tight soaking heat of her female body. She sank down on him, moaning softly in pleasure. Fakir looked away, but he could still hear the sounds they made. Rue managed to ride him for a short time before Mytho woke with a start, crying out.

“No, no,” Rue pleaded, rocking her hips against him. “Please, just long enough… Please, ejaculate quickly.”

But she could already feel Mytho softening inside her.

“Please,” she insisted and leaned down to kiss him.

Kisses were something Mytho liked, something he understood. They were the same no matter if you were a man or a woman. He kissed her happily in return, lavishing her mouth with attention, but it was already too late. He slipped out of Rue’s body, soft and useless. 

Rue sighed heavily and moved off of him.

“I’m sorry,” Mytho said. 

“No,” Rue murmured. “I should be sorry… jumping on you like that while you were still sleeping… It’s just… We need to have a baby or else the people of this country will worry.”

Again, Mytho said, “I’m sorry.”

Rue slid off the bed, her small breasts like ripe peaches. In silence, she picked her wrap up off the floor and began to bind her chest flat. She winced and then finished dressing. Fakir watched her, watching Mytho where he remained on the bed like an angel. How messed up was this?

Then, Rue—as a very beautiful young man—said to Fakir, “You should get him cleaned up.” Then, she left their chambers.

Fakir turned to face Mytho, gratefully throwing aside the sewing. “Mytho,” he began.

“I know,” the young man said softly. “I need to make a child with Rue. It’s my duty as a princess…”

Fakir sighed heavily and offered his hand, pulling Mytho off the bed. “Come on,” he said. “How about a nice bath?”

Mytho nodded, rising from the bed. The pale cream nightgown fell to his feet, trailing on the floor like a wedding gown. His pale hair whispered down his back, falling to his waist, and he lifted one small hand to brush at it. His golden eyes gleamed as he looked to Fakir for guidance, for a smile, for anything. 

“Fakir?” Mytho murmured softly.

Fakir’s breath caught, his blood rushing south to a place it didn’t belong. He knew in his sensible mind that this was wrong. He and Mytho were both men, despite what they outwardly portrayed, and Mytho needed to be with Rue. Despite everything, they were man and woman and needed to give birth to an heir.

“Come on,” Fakir said. 

He tugged Mytho into the bathroom and spun the taps, filling the long porcelain tub with warm water. He added bath salts, a sprinkling of pale pink and white rose petals, and a dash of something sweet-smelling that Mytho liked. Then, he turned back to Mytho. The young man was waiting patiently, if not helplessly, for Fakir to help him undress. Fakir untied the pale white ribbons at Mytho’s throat, letting the white dress slip down his shoulders. Suddenly, Mytho seemed obscenely naked even though only his long thin collarbones were exposed. 

Fakir’s hands trembled, hesitated, and then spun the prince almost roughly. He unlaced the ribbons at the back of the nightdress and let the entire creamy gown slide from Mytho’s body to pool like moonlight at his feet. Since Rue had already removed Mytho’s panties, the youth was completely naked. His skin was like ivory, his snow-white hair hanging like moonlight down his back, and his body was flawless. If not for the male genitals, he could have passed easily for a woman. His golden eyes glowed in the morning light.

“Fakir?” Mytho asked.

“Get in the tub,” Fakir said a little roughly.

Mytho obliged, sliding deep into the water. The rose petals stuck to his white flesh like jewels. 

Fakir sat down on the rim of the sink, watching over Mytho as he soaked in the water for a moment. Then, he knelt beside the tub, grasped the crystal decanter, and poured warm water over Mytho’s pale hair. Then, he poured shampoo into his hands and began working those silken strands into a rich lather. When he finished, he poured water over Mytho’s soft hair again and then stepped back.

“You can wash your body yourself, can’t you?” he asked.

Mytho nodded.

“Good,” Fakir said. “I’ll wait outside then.”

“Wait!” Mytho called suddenly. “Fakir, it’s… it’s been a long time since we bathed together. Won’t you stay?”

“We’re older now,” Fakir tried to explain. “It wouldn’t be right.”

“But girls bathe together all the time,” Mytho continued.

Fakir opened his mouth to speak, to explain that they were both boys, but closed his mouth again. “Mytho,” he began instead.

“Please?” the boy whispered. His eyes were so large and sad, his body so thin and small, and he looked so young and innocent that Fakir just couldn’t deny him.

“Alright,” he relented. He stripped out of his own silken maid’s uniform, dripping the cotton apron on the edge of the sink. He toed off his shoes and socks and then removed his own panties. He was relieved to see that there was absolutely no sign of his wrong feelings for Mytho. “Scoot over.”

Mytho moved towards the front of the tub, making space for Fakir to sit behind him. Fakir stepped into the water, sinking gratefully into the warmth. Then, Mytho slipped back in the water, reclining against Fakir’s chest. For a moment, Fakir was stiff, but Mytho’s body was so soft and pliant that he soon found himself relaxing. He looped an arm around Mytho’s hips and pulled the smaller boy close against his body, embracing him tightly. Then, he rested his cheek on the prince’s soft hair and sighed.

Mytho shifted on Fakir’s lap, his buttocks rocking back against Fakir’s soft cock, and moaned softly in contentment. A pleasurable shiver ran through Fakir’s body and he tried to put a little space between his body and Mytho’s, but the prince resisted. He merely snuggled further back against Fakir’s chest. Fakir tried to remind himself that this was wrong, that Mytho—regardless of how beautiful he was—was a man, too. But it was hopeless. 

Fakir’s cock began to harden, eagerly pressing against Mytho’s back. For a moment, Fakir hoped Mytho wouldn’t notice. But the cursed prince was too curious, too innocent, for his own good. He pulled away from Fakir and turned in the tub to face him. It was incredibly clear now exactly what was happening with Fakir’s body.

“Fakir?” Mytho asked, reaching out to touch the thick bobbing shaft. “What is…?”

Fakir squeezed his legs together. “It’s nothing.”

“That’s what… what Rue wants… from me,” Mytho whispered. “How did you do it? I need to be able to make a baby.”

Fakir knew he had to answer the prince, but how? “It’s,” he whispered, choking on his embarrassment. “It’s an… an erection.”

“Erection?” Mytho repeated, tasting the word. Then, he wrapped his thin fingers around Fakir’s length and squeezed gently.

Fakir gasped out, hot pleasure wracking his body. 

“Did I hurt you?” Mytho whispered.

“No,” Fakir said. “I’m fine.”

“Tell me more,” Mytho said, beginning to curiously stroke Fakir’s shaft.

Unable to focus or even think, Fakir went for the science of it. “It’s… blood vessels are dilating and making it hard.”

“Hard,” Mytho repeated and squeezed the hot length.

“Yeah,” Fakir panted. “It’s… it’s for… penetration… like you need to do with Rue.” Then, a sharp gasp wracked Fakir and a creamy bead of precum welled up on the tip of his cock, swirling away in the water. 

“What was that?” Mytho asked.

“It was… m-my seed,” Fakir gasped.

“Seed?” Mytho whispered. “That’s what Rue needs… from me.”

Fakir nodded and then threw his head back in pleasure. Mytho’s thin soft fingers were stroking him, his pace soft and curious, but he as touching every single sensitive inch of Fakir’s cock. His fingertips ghosted over the mushroomed head, teased the slit there, and then stroked down to the base. He teased the sacks of flesh at the bottom, rolling them between his fingers. 

“Harder,” Fakir gasped. 

“Won’t that hurt?” 

“N-no,” he panted.

Mytho obliged. He wrapped both hands around Fakir’s cock and squeezed and stroked hard. Fakir threw his head back, a whimper of pleasure escaping his lips. Then, the orgasm rocked Fakir suddenly, his seed exploding with such force that it broke the surface of the bathwater. In shock, Mytho fell back, water sloshing noisily.

“That was seed?” the cursed prince whispered.

Fakir nodded, his face flushed.

“How do I do it?” Mytho whispered. “With Rue?”

Fakir wet his lips. “You just need to feel pleasure and it’ll happen on its own.”

“Pleasure?” he asked. “What’s that like?”

“Like,” Fakir hesitated, his throat closing. “Like… like a tickling feeling in your chest and your body feels hot.”

Mytho cupped his own soft length. “I don’t feel like that with Rue, Fakir,” he said. “I only feel that with you.”

“You can’t feel like that with me, Mytho,” Fakir said, putting his hands on the boy’s shoulders and trying not to watch as he fondled himself. “I’m a man, too.”

“I’m a princess,” Mytho said softly. “And Rue is a prince. Right?”

Fakir sighed heavily and pulled the drain, watching the semen-stained water swirl away down the drain. He stood Mytho up, poured some fresh clean water over the boy’s beautiful body, and then quickly rinsed himself off. He helped Mytho out of the tub, pulled his maid’s uniform back on, and then led Mytho back into his bedroom. He helped the ‘princess’ choose a lovely satin gown, laced him into a corset, and ushered Mytho out into the bright day.

…

But since that day in the tub, things had gone south between Fakir and Mytho. Not in a bad way though. They had always spent a lot of time together, but now they were closer. They bathed together each night, something that always led to a round of touching and exploring. Lately, they had even begun to kiss merely because Mytho loved to receive and give kisses. 

Everything was going well. 

Mytho and Fakir were lying together in the bath, spent from a long session of kissing and touching. The water swirled with expended semen, glistening like pale pearls on the water’s surface. Mytho was holding Fakir’s shaft in his hand, stroking it softly like it was a kitten.

“Fakir,” the cursed prince began. “Yours is so different than mine.”

“No it’s not,” Fakir said plainly.

“It is,” Mytho insisted. “Look.”

He sat up in Fakir’s lap and turned to face his friend, holding their limp penises side by side. Like that, it became clear just how different they were and Fakir found himself blushing to the roots of his dark hair. Mytho’s cock was thin and white, rather small compared to Fakir’s, and virtually hairless like that of a child. Fakir’s was longer and thicker, so much larger when laid side by side, and was nestled in a bed of soft dark curls. When they were hard, these differences remained the same. Fakir was large, Mytho was small.

“Everyone’s bodies are different,” Fakir explained and pulled away, moving to get out of the tub.

Mytho clutched at him, golden eyes gleaming. Then, Mytho asked the question that shook the fairytale to its core.

“Fakir?” the cursed prince asked. “You know what I do with Rue, can I do it with you?”

Fakir’s blush intensified. “I’m not a woman. I don’t have a—”

“So we can’t?” Mytho asked.

“We’re both men,” Fakir started to snap.

Mytho sniffled, looking sadly away.

Fakir relented. “I do know a way…”

Mytho’s eyes widened, his lips curving happily. “You’re so smart, Fakir!”

The maid pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily. How did he get himself into situations like this? And if he was so smart, why couldn’t he get himself out of rutting with this confused and beautiful boy? Even so, there was no easy way to go back on his words now.

“Like this,” Fakir said and chose a small bottle of oil from the shelf. 

Mytho followed curiously after his friend, trailing into the bedroom naked beside Fakir. 

“Here,” Fakir said, pressing the bottle into Mytho’s palm. “Let’s do it together… to each other…”

Mytho nodded, lying down on the plush bed pressed chest to chest with Fakir’s warm strong body. Fakir lathered his own fingers in sick moist oil and cupped Mytho’s behind gently, pulling them closer so that their genitals brushed. Heat flashed through Fakir’s blood and Mytho made a soft sound of pleasure. His slick fingers found Mytho’s puckered hole and gently pushed one finger in. Mytho arched against him, nails raking Fakir’s naked skin.

“Does it hurt?” Fakir whispered.

“It’s not like… with Rue…”

Fakir moved his finger, curling it slightly as he sought out Mytho’s prostate. Mytho clung to him, making little animal sounds of bliss and slight pain. Fakir nudged the boy’s head up and kissed him deeply, tongues tangling. Mytho melted into the kiss, his body relaxing completely against Fakir. He positively melted and Fakir added a second finger, scissoring his lover gently.

He broke the kiss gently and poured lube into Mytho’s hand. “Here,” he whispered. “Do it to me, just like I did to you—slowly, gently, with love.”

“Love,” Mytho murmured.

He cupped Fakir’s ass, his fingers sliding into the cleft and pressing into Fakir’s body. The servant was surprised by how strange it felt to have anything entering him there. With the oil, it wasn’t quite painful, but it was so strange. He moaned softly, writhing against Mytho’s fingers, and then kissed him again. The kiss soon turned heated, more passionate, as each boy further fingered the other.

Suddenly, Mytho broke away, gasping. His pale face was flushed pink with bliss, his lips parted wide. “F-Fakir,” he gasped. “I need… I-I want to—”

“What?”

“Like with Rue,” he pleaded. 

There was a moment where their eager bodies tangled. Fakir pulled Mytho on top of him, wrapping his legs around the boy’s thin white hips. The small erection bumped against his sensitive lower body and he made a soft sound. Mytho guided his thin shaft to Fakir’s tight entrance and pushed in slowly, gently, just as he had with his fingers. Fakir groaned, his voice mingling with Mytho’s. Then, the youth was sheathed inside his body to the hilt.

“Now what?” Mytho whispered. 

“Move,” Fakir gasped out. “Whatever feels good to you.”

“Pleasure?” Mytho asked.

He nodded, licking his lips.

Mytho smiled softly and dipped his head to kiss Fakir’s soft lips. Then, he began to move experimentally. He rotated his hips and thrust slightly, making Fakir gasp and squirm. Suddenly, his dick rubbed against Fakir’s prostate and the young man yelped out in pleasure. Precum rolled down his shaft, shining in the light. Mytho gripped Fakir’s neglected cock and stroked it, something he was rather expert at by now. Fakir watched through heavy eyes as the young man who used to be so pure and innocent was delving into his body so greedily. 

Mytho moaned softly, his head dipping down to kiss Fakir again. As his cock brushed Fakir’s prostate, sending spikes of white-hot pleasure through Fakir’s body, their hips bucked helplessly together. Fakir could see Mytho’s pale shaft gliding in and out of him, the wet sloppy sounds coming from between them, and their lips met in a passionate dance. Then, Fakir felt Mytho tremble and something hot filled him, trickling from his body, and Mytho began to soften.

“W-was that…?”

“You ejaculated,” Fakir whispered.

Mytho’s eyes widened. “That’s what I need to do with Rue.”

Fakir nodded and then winced as Mytho’s hand brushed his still-hard shaft. 

“Oh,” Mytho said, looking at the pole between them. “Can I…?

Fakir nodded, thinking the boy meant to stroke him to completeness. But Mytho instead straddled his waist and began to lower himself down on Fakir’s cock. 

“Stop,” Fakir gasped. “I’m too big. I’ll hurt you.”

Mytho squeezed the hard shaft. “You say that, but you got harder.”

Fakir flushed. “That’s because…”

“If I’m with you like this, if you’re inside me,” Mytho whispered, “I’ll be a real princess.”

Fakir’s eyes widened.

Mytho took the bottle of oil from the nightstand and poured it on Fakir’s shaft, smoothing and rubbing with his hands until it was slick. Then, he tried again, the sensitive mushroomed head bumping at his puckered rear. Mytho winced, whimpering softly as Fakir’s much-larger shaft filled him to the brim, but the cursed prince persisted despite Fakir’s weak protests. Fakir moaned, gripping Mytho’s hips, and couldn’t help but thrust shallowly up into the boy’s small form.

Mytho groaned, gripping Fakir’s shoulders tightly in pain. For a moment, both were still as Mytho tried to adjust and Fakir tried desperately not to move within him. Finally, Mytho lifted himself a little and slid back down. Fakir threw his head back against the pillows and pulled Mytho down flush against his naked chest. The two kissed again, passion and fire between them, and Fakir’s larger shaft had no trouble not only bringing Mytho to another orgasm, but also easily gaining one itself. Mytho’s body was so small and hot and tight.

They two collapsed, panting, as Fakir softened inside Mytho.

“I ejaculated again,” Mytho whispered, trailing his fingers through the mess on his stomach and chest.

“Now you just have to do it with Rue,” Fakir said. 

“Will you do it with me?” Mytho asked innocently. “From behind while I’m inside her?”

Fakir flushed. “Get some sleep. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

…

And talk they did the next morning. Rue came in bright and early as she always did in the attempt to catch Mytho with morning wood and found Mytho and Fakir still tangled together in the sheets, naked. Mytho was smiling as he slept, Fakir as well. But it puzzled Rue even more that the two men were sleeping together like this, naked and clearly having been up to certain activities during the night. She grasped Fakir’s shoulder and shook him gently.

“Fakir,” she whispered.

The servant opened his eyes. “Rue? What are you…?” He suddenly realized the position he was in and lurched upright in bed. 

Mytho woke sharply as well, his golden eyes flying from Rue to Fakir. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

“Rue,” Fakir choked out. “This isn’t what it looks like!”

Rue folded her arms over her breasts. “What is it then?”

“Umm,” Fakir sputtered. 

Mytho chose that moment to speak up. “I know how to make a baby with you, Rue.”

She leaned towards him eagerly. “Really?”

“Fakir has to be with me… from behind…”

Rue’s crimson eyes widened and she looked about to protest, but Mytho cupped her face and pulled her down for a kiss, silencing her effectively. Fakir sat helplessly behind Mytho on the bed, watching as the once-innocent young man devoured Rue’s mouth, pulling her down against his naked chest. Rue’s weight made Mytho fall backward, falling into Fakir’s chest, and the three landed into a heap of warm skin and soft touches. 

Feeling Mytho’s warm buttocks nestled against Fakir’s groin, his body soon came to life. Mytho rocked his warm behind against Fakir’s growing erection and they both moaned loudly. Rue pulled away from Mytho’s kisses, her expression troubled. For a moment, she stared at them, watching as Mytho turned his head back at a strange angle to kiss Fakir. She stared, feeling flush of heat go down between her legs. Why was the sight of them kissing so erotic?

Her mouth watered and she fastened her lips to the side of Mytho’s throat, suckling gently. The boy moaned, kissing Fakir deeper, and wrapped his arms tightly around Rue. Her hands roamed his chest, ghosting over the thinness and pale white skin, and then she cupped his genitals. Mytho whimpered, his hips rocking between Rue’s hand and Fakir’s erection behind him. When Fakir’s fingers closed over Rue’s and squeezed tightly, Mytho nearly came.

“Alright,” Fakir panted out. “We need to… change positions.”

Mytho nodded, breaking his kiss with Fakir to press his mouth to Rue’s.

Swiftly, Fakir slithered out from beneath Mytho and Rue’s bodies, letting the two continue to kiss as he hustled to the nightstand to grab the bottle of oil. Rue was still on top of Mytho, dominant and strong, and Mytho looked like a woman lying beneath her. Fakir grasped Rue’s hips and tugged them apart. Then, he offered Mytho his hand and pulled the cursed prince to his feet. Naked, the three stood staring at each other for a moment. 

Fakir was the one who took control. He pushed Rue down on the bed and then guided Mytho on top of her. Her legs immediately spread for him, eagerly trying to pull him into her wet sex. Fakir stroked Mytho’s cock with one hand and teased Rue’s clit with the other while he fastened his mouth to the back of Mytho’s neck. Beneath him, he heard them both begin to pant and moan. Then, he guided Mytho into Rue’s wet heat, pleased to see that Mytho quickly took the reins. 

He oiled his fingers and pushed one finger into Mytho’s hole, stretching and working the young boy’s entrance. Mytho’s hips rocked against Fakir’s hand, thrusting deep into Rue. The girl’s white hands came up to circle around Mytho’s back, clinging to him like a lifeline. Though she was not a virgin, she had never really gained pleasure from her attempted se with Mytho. Now, she had never felt so good and she was certain her body was going to melt.

Fakir added a second finger, stretching Mytho’s body to accommodate his larger cock. The oil was slick and Mytho’s insides were clenching round his fingers. Fakir hardened further just at the thought of pushing into Mytho’s perfect body. He aligned himself and began to slide in. Sandwiched between Rue and Fakir, Mytho moaned loudly. Then, Fakir began to thrust, setting the pace, and everything exploded into a shower of light and pleasure.

Each thrust of Fakir’s hips brushed Mytho’s prostate and pushed Mytho deeper inside Rue’s body. Beneath them both, the girl was clinging to Mytho, kissing him with her mouth wide open. Mytho was so wracked with pleasure that he just couldn’t focus. He had never felt like this before—so hot, so happy, so loved. He gasped both their names as his first orgasm rocked him, but Fakir didn’t let him rest. He continued to thrust, pounding into Mytho without allowing his cock to soften inside Rue.

Rue whimpered, her breasts bouncing, as Fakir’s pace only increased. She could feel Mytho’s seed spilling into her, hot and so wet and almost a little gross. Suddenly, she felt Fakir’s soft hands on her breasts, pinching her nipples lightly. Mytho followed his friend’s lead, his hands roaming Rue’s body. His fingers found her sex and teased her clit gently. Rue moaned, throwing her head back in a shower of dark curls as he orgasm rocked her. Her muscles clenched on Mytho’s shaft, dragging him to the edge of the abyss. 

Fakir doubled over Mytho’s back with a groan, spilling inside the cursed prince. Mytho continued to thrust on his own for a moment longer. Then, once again, he spilled his seed inside Rue. She gasped out, clinging to both of them tightly. The three collapsed on the bed in a tangle of limbs.

Rue pressed her hand over her belly, feeling the heat inside her womb. She rolled to face Mytho and kissed him.

Fakir’s body was snug against Mytho’s back, his arm draped over the cursed prince’s waist. He pressed a kiss to the base of Mytho’s skull.

Between them, as innocent as a child, Mytho slept in spent exhaustion with a smile on his porcelain-pale face.

…

And so, a beautiful princess was born to the cursed ‘princess’ and false ‘prince.’ The final shadow of that curse cast so long ago by the cobbler’s lost lover passed over the strange sort of country. Though the truth of the cursed prince never came to light, it became something that was spoken in hushed voices about in the small forgotten chapter of the country’s history book.

Rue shed the ruse of the false prince and became the beautiful young woman she truly was. With Rue taking the throne until the young princess was old enough to rule, the cursed prince and his servant rode a single horse away from the castle. And on the outskirts of the strange little country, the two watched over the castle from a small cottage in the woods. Yet they lived happily ever after.

X X X

Questions, comments, concerns?


End file.
